


Accidental Kindness

by Kessper



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Body Horror, Chucklevoodoos, GHB sticks his dongle in a chest cavity, GHB/Summoner is the most proper relationship and the least featured, Gore, Hallucinations, It's a canon character death still a major character death, M/M, Mind Control, Multi, Non-standard penetrative sex, Tentabulge and nook anatomy, Wound Fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:42:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26037352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kessper/pseuds/Kessper
Summary: After successfully extracting information from a rebel, whether he wanted to or not, the Grand Highblood is allowed to pay a visit to the Empress' favorite battery and  boy toy, the Helmsman.The Helmsman finds out there actually are worse things than being a prisoner and glorified battery for the Condesce, he's just not sure what those worse things are.
Relationships: Grand Highblood/The Psiioniic | The Helmsman, The Condesce/The Psiioniic | The Helmsman
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7
Collections: Drone Season 2020





	Accidental Kindness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LovelyNightsAlone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovelyNightsAlone/gifts).



Your title is the Helmsman, but you wish your name were still Mituna Captor because if it were, the image of your best friend wouldn’t be a delusion of a half fucked pan that She refuses to let die. Your pan, not Kankri, because ordering the death of the Signless might have been the kindest thing she’d ever done. Not that she’d meant to, but still, you thank your lucky stars that even your mistress can be incidentally kind. And then you wonder if that thanks is really yours. Are you really thankful she killed him when keeping him alive would have broken you so much quicker? Or, is that the helm programming slowly, inevitably worming its way into your thoughts. Are you glad for her accidental kindness, or is that what the programming wants you to believe, because honey attracts more than vinegar, and she has had something of a sweet tooth for centuries.

  
You don’t know. You used to know, but that was a long time ago. You don’t know how long, though you could check the logs to find out, only that it’s been at least two centuries. You remember that because two centuries ago was when that fake’s rebellion had finally been quashed. The Summoner, he’d been called, but to you, he’d been the Suckshit, because who in the fuck got, “Violent uprising and war.” from, “Pacifist rebellion led by a guy who knew he was wader food.”? Oh, and his illicit paramour being allowed to pay you a visit, because of some Important Information he’d extracted from him hadn’t helped either. You should have blamed the Grand Highblood for that, fuck knew he’d had played plenty of party in the Signless’s death, but you were no longer ashamed to admit that the thought of blame had gone out the window when you’d seen the size of that troll. 

_  
“So, is it true what they say about purple bulge? You know, bigger, purpler, better, or is that one more lie your hoodoo shit ass, thinly veiled excuse for a cult, church pays the empress to tell us all so that we have one more reason to feel inferior? If so, it isn’t working, I’ve got two bulges, lusus fucker. Come over here and drop those hiznasty pants, I’ll show your nook how superior they are because fuck knows a stuffed up bureaucrat like you hasn’t got any since he got his title.” _

_  
The Highblood laughed in his face. A loud, reverberating honk that shook the biowires of the helm. It was a wet, nasty sound that screamed he’d fucked up even though he’d done the thing he was supposed to do in making him laugh. He had just enough time to wonder what would happen to the joyless fuck who’d fail to make him laugh before the Grand Highblood was at his throat. Razor-sharp teeth gnashed a breadth away from his throat, while the rank stench of his breath, like fermenting sugar, rolled over his face. He’d have been sick, save for the fact his stomach was empty. That was for the best; the foreign fear pervading his mind told him that, had he gotten sick, Kurloz would have just licked it up and taken his throat for his troubles. He could get Meenah back quick enough that her kiss of life would save even a torn out throat. _

_  
You asked the only thing you could, since, “Are you going to fuck me?” had gone out the window. “Your hatchnames are Kurloz and Meenah?” _

_  
You would have gone on and asked what your hatchname was, as you’d forgotten it over the past couple of centuries, but the Grand Highblood had answered before you could. And not with words, but teeth and claws. Fangs sharper than knives bit bone deep into his shoulder, while talons dug divots into his spine. Agony exploded through you, brighter and hotter than any star, only to be drowned out by a flood of drugs.  _

_  
“Fuck, if you’re going to get kinky on me, at least ask me to dinner first,” You said, your voice tight and strained. You knew that The Grand Highblood was only just getting started with you. You’re pretty sure he’s less celebrating a hard-won victory and more taking out his anger and frustrations on you. Typical highblood, and to think, trolls said this highblood was capricious. _

_  
“The Signless had the right of you, you are all pathetically predicta-” You never finished the last syllable. Instead, you screamed your throat raw when he rammed Faygo coated fingers through your ribcage. _

_  
There’d been no pain relief the second time around. You felt your flesh rend, ribs part and pop as impossibly thick fingers shoved deep into the meat of you. You felt five separate knives stab you, bringing a fiery pain that torched up and down your spine. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t hear or think, and couldn’t feel anything but hurt. So, Kurloz did it for you. The last thing you remembered before he voodooed the fuck out of your chuckles were his eyes, which glowed a lurid purple, neon bright, and toxic looking. And then, your still-beating heart was being torn from your ribs. You could feel its pitifully fragile mooring rip away, a whole new kind of agony, electrifying and mind-numbing in equal measure, and the press of fingers tightening over your heart with each beat. It was impossible, of course, you knew that, but that didn’t stop the pain from feeling any less real. You hadn’t hurt half this much before, and you’d been installed into the helm while still conscious. Grief was a hell of a drug, it seemed. _

  
You are convinced his murder hurt worse. That the Signless’s death had been your soul being torn from your depths, bleeding, and raw. You hadn’t just screamed yourself hoarse, but until you’d been coughing up blood. Not near enough to match the bright, crimson red spilling out of his mouth, but perhaps you’d made up for that with how much you’ve bled since then. He wouldn’t like the idea that you were strung up here out of some sort of atonement, but there was an appeal to you on day one, which lasted through the day you’d been visited by the Grand Highblood, and into the present. You think it’s because atonement is easier to swallow than being a prisoner war-torn twice over. Once, when you traveled with your best friend, and now, when you’re a weapon being used to destroy planets. It hurt down to your rebel soul to massacre everything you once held dear, just not as bad as his death had hurt you. Still, it hurt more than when that fucking highblood had fucked his shockingly cold bulge into your chest cavity. Well, the chest cavity his chuckleshit magic had made you think was there, but again, felt real had been plenty real enough.

_  
You should have known not to make fun of his pants. The polka dots were terrible, but at least he wore them up to his waist, not his chest. Those fucking leggings, righteous though they were had been a thousand times worse. You hadn’t let the Signless live them down, not even so long after his death. Also, you had needed something to deny the fucking clown’s awful truth, folding up his pants like he wasn’t a terrible beast.  
  
_

_ You weren’t sure if it was his voodoos telling you that was real or were allowed to see past the icy terror in your veins. You’d sobbed for that fear as he’d stepped up to you, real yellow tears to match the fake yellow blood. You wanted this to be over, since wanting it to never happen to begin with was an impossible pipe dream. You still begged for your mistress to please, make him stop when he’d rammed the full length of his writhing bulge into one of the spaces his fingers had clawed out. You had thought they had been an impossibly huge hurt, but they had nothing on the bulge which wormed its way inside you. Each beat of your heart, which the voodoos had been put back in your chest, had you pulsing around that bulge like you were a giant nook. However, there was no pleasure to the sensation, like there might have been if he’d raped you properly. So, that he hadn’t was an accidental kindness. You hadn’t felt comfort for that then, only horror as he’d pumped his bulge inside you, fucked your chest, and came gallons of purple deep inside. You felt filled in a way you never had before or since.  _

_  
Used, abused, and thoroughly fucked, you’d searched for some snark to spit back at him, but you could only be glad for his kindness. He could have been so much worse, but the empire was kind to its own when she wanted it to be. And she did because she’d heard him scream for her, heard him beg. She was not so cruel as to ignore his sweet little pleas. She’d make the big bad highblood fuck off because he’d been right, he was not near as capricious as he’d like everyone to believe. Hard to handle, shore, but she knew how to play a wild card. _

_  
You’d been so relieved that it took you an embarrassingly long time to realize those thoughts hadn’t been yours. They weren’t voodoo either, but they were close, and more than just the 1’s and 0’s of the helm’s conditioning. You held onto that, held onto the kindness your mistress gave you, to hang through Kurly-cue, as he licked each of his fingers clean of your gore an inch from your face. How his breath could still smell sugar sweet, you didn’t know nor care, you were just glad it was over. And even gladder that your tight little nook was free for the taking because take it she would. She was on her way to pay you a visit, to thank you for dealing with that horribubble poser, and to show you that she could still hurt you worse than anyone, save for the heretic who’d betrayed you. You’d agreed that, yes, he’d done worse and almost believed it. That guilt would eat away at you for millennia to come. But still, it was more accidentally kind than truly believing him to be a traitor because remembering being a rebel would always feel better than being a cog in the machine. Knowing you had friends and family had made it possible to finally die.  _

  
You didn’t know if the Vast Glub was an accidental kindness, but you would bet your life on it because the Signless had spoken often of who’d herald Alternia’s death. It was fitting for the second Signless to be as good as the first at being accidentally kind. You hoped he’d be as good as his ancestor at the rest of the kindnesses, and then succumb to death as  Gly’bgolyb had screamed your names. Doom, Mituna Captor, The Psiioniic, and the Helmsman.


End file.
